Date: Sat, 26 Jun 2004 12:25:33 -0400 From: Herb Cat Subject: Master Bottoms 3 Disclaimer: Do not continue reading if you are not 18 years old or you are offended by portrayals of male to male sex or the laws in your state or county forbid this type of material. Copyright 2004 by the author. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission. Names, characters, locations and incidents are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The Master Bottoms --------- Day Three ----------- After breakfast, I made my rendezvous with Bennings at the pool, as I had promised. We did our ten laps, he gave me my royal fucking, and I went back to the dorm to dress for my lunch date. I was standing outside the servants entrance at a quarter to 12. I was wearing an Armani outfit, brown corduroys, tan blazer, fancy ascot. It was very comfortable, but it still felt strange wearing any clothes. I had gotten used to being in my uniform. I had my evening clothes in my bag. Precisely at noon, a limo drove up and the uniformed chauffeur got out and put my bag in the trunk. "James," he introduced himself. "37, I mean, Fred." I stammered. He laughed. "I'm used to it. You guys here at the club are always tripping over your own names." I got in the front seat beside him. Logan wasn't in the car. James had been dispatched to come get me. "Where are we headed?" I asked. "The Fontainebleau. Mr. Logan wants to have lunch with you and get to know you a little. He's apparently heard good things about you." I knew the Fontainebleau was about the ritziest watering hole in town. Of course, I had never eaten there before. I wondered what good things Logan had been told about me. We made excellent time driving into the city. There seemed to be no traffic. "So do you like working at the club, Fred?" "I think I really love it. But I've only been there two days. I'm still getting used to it. They work us hard. But shit, I get to fuck lots of sweet ass. You can't beat that." James nodded. "I bet you'd like working there too, James." He laughed again. "No, I don't think so. I like being a chauffeur. And besides, I haven't got what it takes to be an employee there. Sure as hell wouldn't mind being a member, though!" Another laugh. "I take it you're a bottom then." "This ass of mine was made for plowing, Fred. Mr. Logan likes the way I take care of his limo, but I'd never be able to satisfy his cravings for cock. That's why he goes to the club." I tried to peer down at his rear end as he drove, but I figured I just had to take his word for it. "What, you don't believe me?" Fred grinned. He'd seen me looking. "Look, we're making excellent time here. At this rate, I'll have you at the restaurant in plenty of time." He pulled off into a rest stop and stopped the car. "Get in back," he said. We both opened our doors and got into the back seat. My corduroys came off quickly as did his uniform trousers. There in the limo's back seat he began sucking my cock and I held his curly black hair. Soon I was face fucking him with tremendous vigor. My cock hadn't seen any action since Bennings by the pool, and it was anxious to get back to work. James pulled his face off and turned his ass toward me. Now I could see what he meant. James had a bountiful butt. It easily measured up to any of the club members I had seen, but of course, James lacked the financial resources to be a member himself. I spit on his hole, then drove my cock deep inside. Unlike the club members, James was relinquishing control to me. I was again in charge. I actually had to concentrate, to think about the timing and the rhythm. I had gotten used to having the bottoms in the driver's seat. Soon my spunk was crying for release. I told James, and he pulled away. He quickly turned around and swallowed my shaft just as it poured forth its contents. He sucked it dry, then licked it clean. "We don't want to leave any untidiness here," James explained. "After all, you're about to meet Mr. Logan. We both got dressed again, got back in the front seat and James drove on. I was quiet, lost in my own thought. It was exciting fucking a chauffeur in the back of a limo. Yet something was amiss. I finally realized that I really didn't like being the control. I had come to appreciate the pleasures of having an asshole who was so adept at his role that I didn't need to worry about anything. James had a wonderful chute, but he was nowhere as talented at using it as the members were. James left me off in front of the restaurant. He explained that he'd be back after lunch and drove off. I went inside. Shit, what an elegant place. I was glad 14 and 21 had suited me up properly for I was feeling quite out of my element here, and I didn't want it to show. I told the maitre'd I was there to see Mr. Logan, and he led me to a booth in the back by the bar. "Mr. Jones, I presume. I'm Mr. Logan." This sudden formality caught me off guard. "Please, Sir, call me thir . . .er, Fred." I shook his extended hand and started to sit down across from him. "No, uh, Fred, sit here beside me." With his left hand he patted the bench and I did as I was told. "Yes, I'd like to call you Fred. It's short and neat. And you can call me Mr. Logan." "Of course, Sir." "Yes, or Sir. That's good too." "It's short and neat," I blurted out. Uh oh, I thought, that was sure dumb. "Ha ha! That's a good one, Fred. I'm glad you have a wit. I'm impressed already." Logan was a stocky man. I figured he was only 5'6 or so, but of course he was sitting down so I couldn't be sure. He had reddish hair, quite bushy. I could see the back of his hands and his wrists were hairy, and I wondered if underneath that expensive suit there was a real bear. The waiter brought me a cocktail which my host had ordered already. He had taken the liberty to order all the courses of our lunch, for both of us, which suited me fine. I'd have never been able to decipher the menu myself. As we ate, he plied me with questions about my childhood, my schooling, my previous jobs, my interests. Remembering what 8 had told me, I wanted to show Logan that I was capable of carrying on an intelligent conversation on a variety of topics. Throughout my interrogation, whenever one course had been removed and we were waiting for the next, in other words, whenever his left hand was free, Logan was feeling my crotch. That's after all why he wanted me to sit beside him. I knew better than to probe into his personal life, but I gleaned a few tidbits. I learned that he works for a major pharmaceutical house. He is in charge of their foreign accounts, which requires him to travel to Europe a lot. He owns a townhouse in the city, but prefers to sleep at the club when he's in town. We don't need to ask why! That night he would attend the premiere of the opera company's Rigoletto. That would be preceded by a charity reception to benefit the museum. I am to be Loran's escort at both events. After our dessert cordials, we left the restaurant. There was no mention of the bill. How do these rich guys pay their tabs anyway? I wondered. Does some toady, maybe James, come around and pay up later? Or does the restaurant send Loran a monthly bill? Sure enough, James was right there at the curb with the limo. We climbed in, this time I was in the back with my host. Loran told James to take us to his townhouse. Then he settled back and fondled my crotch some more. In fact, by the time we arrived, Logan had opened my pants and was rubbing the full length of my cock. One thing about these Master Bottoms, they all loved to play with dick, every chance they had. James got out, retrieved by bag from the back, and came around to open my door. That gave me time to tuck my erect member back into my pants. I got it in, but just barely. 10 had tailored my pants so tight that my bulge was obvious to all, certainly the doorman, who politely held the door for Logan and me to enter. I carried my bag, and we entered a large foyer, where a houseboy greeted Mr. Logan, gave him a stack of messages and got a list of errands he was to run, immediately, if not sooner. The houseboy too was staring at my crotch. My cock still hadn't settled down. Logan led me to the elevator and we rode up to his bedroom floor. Another servant met us and said, quite matter-of-factly, that he had just run a bath for us. Logan thanked him and then introduced me, "Arnold, this is Fred, show him what to do." "Yes, Mr. Logan." Logan disappeared into a bedroom, and Arnold took me into another next door. "Take off all your clothes, Fred, put on this robe and then go through that door. Mr. Logan will be expecting you." Then pointing to my crotch, he added, "I don't think you want to keep him waiting." "No, Arnold," I smiled. "I certainly don't." By the time Arnold was back out in the hall, my clothes were off. I threw on the robe, and opened the door Arnold had indicated. There was a huge bathroom. Marble fixtures, gold plumbing, the works. A four foot statue of Michaelangelo's David was in the corner. Corinthian columns framed a large shower stall on one side. There were candles glowing on various ledges, and Handel's Water Music was playing softly in the background. And in the middle of the room was a jacuzzi. Logan was reclining beneath the foaming water. "Get in, my boy. We both have to get ready for our big evening." I dropped my robe. "Ahh, I see you're holding up very well, Fred." I glanced down at my cock and saw it was still rock hard. "Yes, Sir, I guess I am." I climbed in beside him and Logan lost no time in resuming the exploration of my genitals. Under the surging water, he cupped my balls and fingered my perineum. He stroked my cock and petted my belly. He pinched my tits and kissed my lips. Finally, he laid himself over the edge of the tub and presented his ass. Now, you know, I had seen a lot of bootylicious back sides in the last two days, but hell, they all paled compared to what I now beheld. Logan had two perfectly formed, perfectly sized glutes. A lot of guys have a thing for a pair of women's knockers. Not me. What I really appreciate are two orbs like these. After all, Desmond Morris had theorized that the shape of the female human's boobs was merely an imitation of the buttocks anyway. I reached over and ran my finger through his crack until it came to his lovetunnel. "Fuck it, Fred. That's an order." Of course, I did as I was told. I pushed my cock into his chute and fucked him hard. I leaned my wet body over his and held him tight in my arms. Logan's ass grabbed my cock and pulled it in. It massaged my shaft and sucked me deeper. I scrunched my face as my orgasm began to throb. I pulled out and dumped my load on Logan's back. "Ahhh," Logan sighed. After a few minutes, he added, "The reports I had heard about you are all true, my boy. You're a damn good fuck. C'mon, let's get cleaned up." Logan stood up and I saw he had released his own jizm on the side of the jacuzzi. "Jacuzzizm, Sir," I pointed out to him. "Fuck, I like your cleverness, Fred. That's a good one! Jacuzzizm." He wiped his fingers in it and stuck them in my mouth. "Very tasty, Sir." He led me over to the shower where we both lathered up and rinsed off. Before we finished I asked his permission to rim his handsome ass and he graciously permitted it. His crack was hairy which a new sensation for my excited tongue. An hour later, we were both in our tuxes, riding in the back of the limo, on our way to the museum reception. Logan opened a bottle of champagne from the limo's fridge and poured us each a glass. "Get ready, my boy. It's almost curtain time." I was about to be put on stage. The reception was indeed elegant. At a thousand dollars a plate, it had better be. Moguls filled the room. I recognized some of them from the newspapers. I followed Logan around as he met old friends. He introduced me simply as Fred. No explanation. "Hey, Jack, you old scoundrel. How's it going? Haven't seen you since Aspen. This here is Fred." Jack extended his hand and gave me a firm shake. He was about ten years Logan's senior, well grayed but very dashing nonetheless. "And this is Heather," said Jack as a blond teenager with silicon breasts came into view. I looked at his date and thought, "What a loser! He had to hire this empty headed platinum beached gold digger for the night to accompany him." Then I realized, hell, she's no different than I am. We're both here to make these men look good. After several more minutes of schmoozing, Logan headed off to his table and directed me to sit on his left side (where I knew he would be able to reach my crotch under the tablecloth.) One of the corporate CEO's at our table owned a NASCAR race team, so I was able to talk intelligently about racecars. Logan seemed pleased with my performance. As we talked, I thought I heard a familiar voice behind me. I casually glanced over my shoulder. At the next table was a tall woman in what must have been an expensive designer gown. Beside her sat her toy boy. I realized he was a street hustler I knew from back home. I knew better than to show recognition. Later on in the festivity, when the appeal was made to support the museum building fund, Logan stood up and presented the chairman of the fund with a $10,000 check. The room gave him a standing ovation, and frankly, I was proud to be his date that evening. At the opera, I was even further into alien territory. We had a private box, but even though the house lights were dimmed, the rest of the audience could still see our heads and shoulders. When Logan reached over during Act I and unzipped my pants, no one was any the wiser. By Act III my pants were completely off and Logan was massaging me into a furious hardon. We both continued to look at the stage and nod appreciatively as the singers performed. I knew Logan was enjoying this little deceit, and at least it kept me awake through the entire opera. Of course he knew which aria signaled that the final act was coming to an end and he motioned for me to pull up my pants in time for us to stand up for the curtain calls. Once again, my immense johnson was squeezed into a tight pair of black pants. And it stayed that way as we made our way down to the waiting limo. James had everything ready for us and we lost no time jumping into the back seat. As soon as James took off from the curb, we both had our pants off and Logan was sitting astride my erect pole. After an evening of charity feasting and five acts of Rigoletto, he was just as ready as I for an all-out no-holes-barred fuck. By the time James was out in the country, we were both spent and simply resting bare assed in the back seat. Logan had me pour us each another glass of champagne. I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Thank you, Sir, for a wonderful evening." He leaned over to me and whispered. "Don't get the idea I'm finished with you yet, 37." So, now the charade was over. I was no longer Fred Jones, his escort. I was once again number 37, his slave top. We pulled up the long drive to the club and I reached down to retrieve my pants from the floor. Logan put his foot on them. "Leave them there, boy. You don't need them here." James pulled up to the front entrance and opened the car door for his employer and the boy toy of the evening. We both stepped out, naked from the waist down to our socks. Yet here at the club, this didn't feel strange to me. The difference between wearing my codpiece uniform and being butt naked was negligible anyway. It was well past three in the morning and no one who might be up would care if they saw even Logan's naked butt. Of course, his butt was all the more glorious naked. What did feel strange however was walking through the main door. Since I had arrived over three days before, I has only used the servants entrance. Logan grabbed my dick and we strode down the main hall and up the grand staircase. He pulled me along like he had his dog by the leash. Upstairs in the hallway, I caught a glimpse of numbers 22 and 26 entering two of the bedrooms. At least I think it was them, they weren't in their uniforms. I figured their masters had exchanged them in the middle of the night. They probably saw me too being pulled along by my dick, but if so, the sight certainly didn't astonish either of them. Logan took me into his room, the one that was always his whenever he was in town. "Take off that tux, Dickhead, and the rest of your clothes. You've got work to do." Yes, the charade was definitely over. Logan leaned over the bureau and had me fuck his ass there, then again in the chair, then doggy style on the bed. It had been a really long day and it was going to be an equally long night. [Why do the members play tennis with such determination? Why must the President of the Club don the uniform and perform the duties of a slave? Why is 37 given a camera? Find out in the next episode.]